Today, the busiest place Behind the Puddle was not the feeders, the water, or even the trees. It was the wheelbarrow full of dead branches waiting for one of our evening fires.
The little brown birds found it first. I call them little brown birds because there are so many female and immature birds that look similar from where I sit, and I do not really need to know exactly who everyone is. They could all be the same species or several different ones. I would enjoy them just the same.
What mattered today was that they had decided this pile of branches was a pretty good place to be.
They tucked themselves between the sticks, perched along the edges, disappeared into the middle, and popped back out again. What looked to us like firewood apparently looked very different from their side of the patio.
It looked like shelter. It looked like a place to rest. It looked like somewhere worth staying awhile. Which has now created a very small problem, because I feel a little guilty about burning it.
Those branches were collected for exactly that purpose. They were meant to become part of an evening fire, something warm to sit beside as the days become cooler. Until this morning, I had never considered that anyone else might already have plans for them. That seems to happen a lot Behind the Puddle.
We put something somewhere for one reason, and eventually one of our visitors finds another use for it. A feeder becomes a meeting place. A fence becomes a resting spot. A sad-looking flower still feeds a hummingbird. And apparently a wheelbarrow full of dead branches can become temporary housing for little brown birds.
Maybe that is one of the reasons I enjoy watching this place so much. There is always something reminding me that what I think something is for is only one version of the story.
For today, the branches can stay where they are. The fire can wait.
Leave a Reply